What If
by Centroides
Summary: We all accept certain things about the guys but I got to thinking... What if they weren't true. What if it was something else. I started with one character and it spread so each chapter will look at a different character and ask "What if...". I am not suggesting these are true, just a little something to play with for fun.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

What if Garrison…

Craig Garrison sat on the steel slab. He was in big trouble and saw no way out. At least his parents would never know. Life had been hard when they were alive. His dad had worked at the mill since he was fourteen. His mother cleaned rich peoples' houses. They both came home exhausted but they always had time for him. On Craig's fourteenth birthday he had announced that he wanted to quit school and go work with his dad. Both parents rejected that idea. They told him they wanted him to finish school. He was to be their pride and joy, the first high school graduate in either family. They wanted a better life for him.

Four months later his mother had fallen at work and broken her leg. She could not work in a cast so she lost her job. Again Craig had offered to get a job after school but rather than put that pressure on him they had moved to a poorer section of town to a smaller apartment. Craig got up earlier to walk the extra distance to school.

On his fifteenth birthday the three of them had splurged and gone to a movie. It had been a good picture and they were laughing and talking but when they got to their street three men had stepped out of the shadows. They refused to believe that all they had was a dollar and three cents and no jewelry. In their anger a gun went off and his father fell. His mother screamed and then she too lay dying on the sidewalk. They ran. Craig was an orphan at age fifteen.

A neighbour took him in but with the crowding and the extra stress of feeding another mouth Craig spent more and more of his time on his own. That was where he met up with other displaced young men, the wrong crowd. What started as pranks quickly turned serious. Craig had not graduated from high school but he had graduated from small time misdemeanors to the big time, attempted murder.

A bell rang and he stood and waited. Another bell and the cell door opened. He stepped out. His life was a series of bells. The bell rings and you line up, another bell and you walk. How he hated it in here. All he wanted was out of this hell hole, back to the outside. For what? There was nothing out there for him. Just more trouble, more heartache. Damn, he hated his life.

The guard walked slowly down the hall his truncheon in his hand. Anyone so much as move without being told would get cracked with it. Those were the rules. Do as you were told and you would survive, if not then what ever happened was your fault. The guard stopped, pointed at the prisoner and then down the hall. It was his turn.

Prisoner 22162 walked down the hall and came to a halt in front of the bars. The guard on the other side looked him up and down, checked the tag on his shirt against the list on his clipboard then signalled to another guard who controlled the gate. With a clang it unlocked and slid open. The prisoner stepped through and waited. The gate slid closed behind him, locking with another clang then he was escorted to a small interview room.

He knew what it would look like before he was even inside. He had talked to his lawyer in one of these rooms, a dismal place if there ever was one. Well, second only to the cell where he had spent the last two years. This call had been a surprise. He was not due for parole for another year so what this was about he did not know. There was no way he could be lucky enough to be free of this place; that was not the way his life had been going. He stepped inside and took his seat at the beat up table. Nothing had changed. The walls were still grungy grey-green, the floor still grey and stained. Even the chair was just as uncomfortable and still bolted to the floor. He waited.

Minutes later the door opened and he watched two men enter the room. The second man was a guard. He pulled the door closed and stood beside it. The other man was in his fifties, slightly overweight and balding. He moved to the table, sat down and opened the file folder that was in his hand. His tired eyes and slouch said he really did not want to be here. He glanced at the pages inside then said, "Assault, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder." He raised his eyes to glare over the top of the page and waited; his eyes hard and uncaring.

Seeing no response Thomas Bilking put down the file. "So, mister tough guy. You beat a man almost to death because he bumped into you and didn't say excuse me." There was no response to his sarcasm.

He leaned forward. "We can do this my way, you talk to me, work with me, or we can do it your way. I tell the judge you're not ready and you go back to your cell for the rest of your sentence. Personally, I don't care. You go back, you're out of my hands and I can help someone who wants to go straight. Your choice." He closed the file and sat straighter, preparing to leave.

The prisoner was prepared to keep his thoughts to himself. That was the way he had always been but the thought of another year in that hell hole back there, the smell, the noise, the lack of privacy. No, he did not want that. He could do it if he had to but if there was a way out…

"It wasn't like that."

Mr. Bilking knew he had his foot in the door. He had been a parole officer for many years. At first he thought he could save the world. He thought the men who were sent to him would welcome his efforts to help them get their lives together and become law abiding citizens. Over the years he had gotten tired, tired of pushing men who did not want to change. The only thing they were sorry about was that they had gotten caught. They were not sorry for the pain they had inflicted on the victims or their families, just themselves. It was disheartening to get them set up with a job and a place to stay only to have them back in court within a week for another crime. Thomas had stopped pushing. He waited until they made the effort before he did anything.

This man before him had a long record of minor offenses, theft, vandalism, public drunkenness, fighting. This fight had been much worse, bad enough for the attempted murder charge. Could he be turned around? Had this stint in prison been enough to make him want to change or was he too hardened? These few words he had said could be a delaying tactic or the start of a new beginning. Garrison would have to give him a lot more before he was convinced.

"He'd been riding me for months, ever since he found out I was working off my debt. It just got to the point I couldn't take it anymore. I told him that that was it. He did it again and I'd…" Craig watched the man on the other side of the table. Always someone judging him. It made him mad. He wanted to tell him to… but that would land him back in that cement coffin. He cooled his temper and watched. The officer of the court was just sitting there watching him. He had read his file, he knew the details so why lie. "I threatened to kill him." There, it was all there. Guilty as charged. Nothing he could do about it.

"Would you have?"

That stopped him. He thought back to the fight, the fight that had landed him here. Did he want to kill him? He had been mad, he could feel the anger rising just thinking about how he had had to listen to that blowhard all those months and not being able to do anything about it. Horace, the Horse, Holchek knew he was on probation. He knew Craig could not fight back so he had pushed him every day, relentlessly. He had no reason to come into the hardware store but he and his pals did, every day.

"Hey, flunky. You missed some paper on the floor." Then he would crumple up a gum wrapper and drop it where he had just swept. Sometimes he or one of his friends would knock over a display or wipe their greasy hands on the front window and stand there watching him clean it again. He had tried to ignore them. He told himself they were not worth it but that had only lasted for so long then he had snapped.

But did he want him dead?

"No," he said with a sigh. "I just wanted him to leave me alone. All I wanted was to do my time, pay off what I owed Mr. Woods for the stuff I took and the window I broke. And I would have. I liked working there. Mr. Woods even gave… He treated me like I actually worked there. He showed me the different tools and what they were for. He offered to show me how to work the till but I told him I'd rather not be anywhere near in case." Craig shrugged. "He said that after my sentence was up that he would hire me if I wanted. That's gone."

"You said he gave you, what did he give you?"

The flash of fear changed to regret before he looked down at his hands. In a quiet voice he said, "He gave me money." Craig looked up expecting the worst but there was no change in his expression. "He told me to get a haircut."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I went right across the road to Joe's Barbershop." Mr. Wood had been so good to him and as a thank you he had busted up his store. "If I had the money I'd pay to fix what I broke in his store. He didn't deserve that. I'm just glad he wasn't hurt." The fight had been fast and hard. By the time the cops had hauled him off, Horace lay bleeding on the floor, his jaw broken, a few teeth missing and the store was a mess. That was what he regretted. Horace, he didn't care about; it was Mr. Woods that he had hurt.

The only sound was the distant clang of a prison door and the intermittent buzz of a fly around the light bulb. Finally Thomas said, "The DA doesn't want you back on the street." He paused to let that sink in. There was acceptance. The prisoner knew he was not getting out. Thomas had debated this decision ever since he had read this file. Another good kid gone bad. His parents had been murdered when he was fifteen years old, the perpetrators never caught. That had to be tough, seeing both your parents killed in front of you and not being able to do anything about it. That had to leave an impression. Apparently he had gone from a good student to a trouble maker. At age fifteen he had dropped out of school and had taken off ending up in Washington. Could he be helped? It sounded like he was willing…

"How's your German?" Garrison just looked puzzled so he said, "Your file says your parents were French and German. Did you speak either at home?" That threw the young man completely.

"I don't understand."

"There's a special program that's being offered through the Army," said Thomas as he looked for some reaction but there was nothing registering except confusion. "They're looking for men who are fluent in both languages."

"We spoke both French and German, but I thought the Army wouldn't take you if you had a record."

"Like I said, this is a special program. They're willing to overlook your record if you agree to special training; that is if you survive boot camp." He paused, noting the interest. "The training is tough but if you complete it, do six months on the front lines as an Officer and then you move up. What do you think?"

"I don't know. The Army…"

"Yeah, the Army. They'll train you how to fight and when to fight and where."

"I get to fight?"

"Yes, but the training is strict and it's hard. There is one more thing, if you drop out you come right back here and complete your sentence."

"I'll do it." He sat up just a little straighter.

"This is the Army we're talking about. You have to take orders and obey. You have to shut your mouth and do as you're told."

Craig nodded and smiled. "And they'll just overlook my record?"

"From what I understand, if you do well, they'll give you a new one. Can't have on Officer with a criminal record."

"Me? An Officer?" His parents would have been so proud. He was ashamed of what he had done to tarnish the Garrison name. Here was his chance to make it right. "What about my name? Will they change that too?"

"Do you want to?"

Craig shook his head, amazed at his prospects. An hour ago he was at a dead end, going nowhere, never going to be anybody. Now he had a chance. "No. My Dad was proud to carry the Garrison name. This is my chance to try to undo the mess I made of it."

"Well, that's it." Thomas stood and picked up the file. "I'll let you sleep on it. Tomorrow a couple of MPs'll show up. There will be documents to sign and then they'll take you to Fort Bragg where you'll start basic training. Just remember, if you wash out, refuse the training, disobey orders or try to run, the MP's are very good at hunting down AWOL's and when they do you'll be back here with a charge of desertion tacked on to the end of your sentence.

"On the other hand, you play your cards right, you work hard, follow the rules, pass the training and keep your nose clean and all this," he gestured to the grungy walls, the scared table and chairs and the guard, "can be a distant memory."

"I'll do it."

His tone and the look on his face told Thomas that he had made the right decision to offer this opportunity to Mr. Garrison. He also had a feeling that this would be the last time he would see convict 22162.

Two years later the Lieutenant was waiting outside a London hotel. His men had been staying here for the night while he attended a meeting at HQ and now he was waiting for them to check out.

"Well, if it isn't mister Tough Guy," said a familiar gravelly voice.

"That's Lieutenant Tough Guy," he answered with a grin while pointing to his insignia. "How've you been?" He would always remember the man who had saved his life back there in prison.

"Still plugging away. I was in the neighborhood, thought I would stop in and see how you were doing." At Garrison's look of disbelief he grinned.

"On vacation. Can you believe it? The wife said either we're going to see her sister or she was going alone so here I am. Couldn't let her come over here alone in the middle of a war so here I am." He looked the Officer up and down. "You're looking particularly well. Army life's agreeing with you I see."

"Yes, I finally found somewhere I belong. I just wish I could've…"

"Better late than never."

"You got time for a coffee?" asked Craig as he gestured to the restaurant inside.

Thomas checked his watch and said, "Sure but I prefer something stronger."

Craig held the door as he said, "You haven't tried wartime coffee."

The two men sat. "Your men give you any trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle." He paused a moment not quite sure how to handle this. "Do you know who put my background in place?" he asked quietly.

"I did, why?"

"It's a good thing you did, even though you kind of over did it. First in my class?"

"You're a bright boy. Grade A student as far as you went. Who says you couldn't've been top of your class? You showed real leadership during basic.

"So someone checked you out?"

"Yeah, one of my men."

"And it held?"

"Yeah. They were impressed."

"Good. Glad it all worked out for you." Thomas smiled. Garrison had been one of his success stories. Two others had taken the deal, one was dead and the other had run, for about a week. It had been a crazy idea but it had worked for this man.

Suddenly a blonde man stopped up to Garrison and said, "'Ey Warden."

Garrison half turned but not far enough to miss the quizzical look on Thomas' face. "What is it Goniff?"

"Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, but, ah," he started then looked to Garrison's companion expectantly. He waited.

"What is it Goniff?"

The Englishman turned reluctantly back to his boss. "I was wondering when we're leaving."

"Where are the others?" He scanned the few people who lingered in the lobby before he spotted three familiar figures. "Go wait with the others; I'll be with you shortly."

Once he was out of earshot Thomas said, "Warden?" with a disbelieving grin

"Nickname. Their choice not mine"

"Ironic isn't it?"

Both men laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

What if Goniff ….

A gentle knock on his door interrupted the American Officer's paperwork. Goniff sauntered into the room.

"'Allo Warden. 'And 'ow are you this fine day."

"I'm fine, Goniff." He put his pen down and waited.

The English thief sat down and crossed on ankle over his knee, looking relaxed. He smiled.

"What would you like, Goniff?"

"What do you mean? Can't a guy just drop by to see 'ow his best mate is doing?"

"Best mate?" he asked skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

"Sure. We're mates, right? And mates 'elp each other don't they?"

Garrison sat waiting. He knew how to use silence especially with Goniff.

The elevated foot came down and he sat forward. "I need a pass to go to London."

"To London."

"Yeah. I swear I'll come right back."

Again the American waited.

Goniff shifted in the chair. It was not the most comfortable chair but he was especially uncomfortable.

"Come on Warden. It's not like I ask for a lot, and besides, well, I said I would go on these missions and I've kept my word."

"Why?"

"Well like me ol' man said, If you don't keep yer word then it's worth nothing."

"Why London?"

"Oh, I got a friend 'oos sick. I just wanna pop in an' wish 'im well. Right there an' right back. Swear." and he raised his right hand. His look was all innocence.

"All right."

"Thanks Warden. I knew you'd understand."

Garrison rose and reached for his coat. Goniff paused. "Ey Warden?"

"I'll go with you. I have to go in anyway."

Goniff stopped. "You don't 'ave to do that. A ride to the station maybe but..."

"You have a reason you don't want me along?" He stood waiting.

"No," but he looked uncomfortable.

"Goniff. If you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me."

"I do, Warden."

"So who are you going to see?"

Flustered by the turn of event he blurted out the name. "Richard Dunsworth."

"I didn't know you knew one of the Dons at Oxford?" The look of shock on the pickpockets face was priceless and proof that there was more to this than Goniff was letting on. "You a close friend?"

"How do you know …?"

"Sit," ordered Garrison.

Goniff sat in shock. "How do you know who he is?" the cockney accent was gone.

"It was in the paper."

"You read the..."

"All right, let's have it. This is strictly confidential but if you want to go see ol' Dunsy then I want the whole story."

A deep breath and a loud sigh. "It was during our first term at Oxford that I and a few chums took a little trip to the East end. It was just a lark, a bit of fun. We met a few lads there, had a few drinks and got to talking. There was this one fellow who taught me how to lift a wallet. Turns out I was very good at it. Hicks and I had so much fun that we went back several more times.

Money was tight so to pay for these excursions I took to breaking and entering. When I got caught I faked the accent and gave a false name. First time offence and I gave the goods back so they let me go with a warning. I stopped doing it but when I ran out of money …

"How did you end up in Sing Sing?"

"I was seen leaving a house that was robbed so when I heard the constables were looking for me I stowed away on an ocean liner and ended up in America."

"What about your Mother? She followed you?"

"No. My Mother disowned me when I did not finish at Oxford. She had such unrealistic expectations."

"Then…?"

Goniff smiled. "Mom is a grand old lady. She's a friend to every street kid around. She took me in when I arrived, showed me around, gave me a place to sleep. She is a gem."

Garrison was intrigued but then a thought intruded. His face darkened. "The mission where you had to impersonate …"

"Oh yes." He smiled sheepishly. "Well I could not just drop the accent, could I? Then you and the others would know the truth. I don't want them to know."

"Why not?"

"They treat me like one of 'um." The cockney accent returned. "'ow do you think Casino or Chief would treat me if they knew? 'And Actor. They see me as 'armless, good for a bit a sport. That's 'ow I fit in 'ere.

"And now if you tell'm they'll never forgive me for conning them. You said this was confidential," the accent shifted again to upper crust, "and I am afraid I must hold you to that statement."

Garrison was in shock and a bit awed. Goniff had had him completely fooled and from the looks of it he had conned the others too. "You have my word. I will say nothing of this to anyone."

"Thanks gov'naw. So 'ow about that two day pass to London?" Goniff was back.

"You have six hours."

"Aw, Warden?"

"Take it or leave it."

Goniff reached over and took the paper. A quick glance showed it was only for eight hours but at least he would have a chance to see his old pal.

Garrison thought over this latest revelation about his men. They were full of surprises.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

What If Chief…

Chief moved smoothly into the room. He was nervous but not as much as he would have been months earlier. A fragile trust was beginning to form between the cons and their leader and even between the cons themselves. Still, to be called to Garrison's office made him nervous. He had knocked and entered when told to. He moved into the room and stood about four feet from the desk where Garrison sat.

Craig had returned from a briefing in London just half an hour ago. The news he had received was troublesome. The gentle knock could only be one person so he called for him to enter and watched as he gently closed the door behind him then moved into the room. He lacked the confidence of Actor or even Casino but did not look guilty like Goniff often did. How different his men were. Actor would have sauntered in, pulled out the chair and sat before filling his pipe. Casino would have swaggered in and probably sat on the edge of his desk before asking what was going on. Goniff would ease his way in and stand in front of his desk, nervously smiling. Chief on the other hand always stood back as he was doing now.

Lieutenant Craig Garrison waited until the youngest member of his covert team had stopped before his desk before indicating with a nod of his head that he should sit. He watched his face but nothing was revealed other than a hint of curiosity. Once sitting comfortably, Craig pulled the single sheet of paper from the file in front of him, turned it so it was right way up for his guest then slid it over. He watched closely. The man leaned forward, took the paper and sat back as he studied it. Unfortunately there was no reaction but then he should have expected that.

"Well?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

With a one shoulder shrug the seated man turned the paper and slid it back across the desk. His eyes followed the paper then paused when it stopped before continuing upward until their eyes met. Craig had had his doubts when he had first seen it, the picture showed a much younger man,  
>but they were gone now. The man who sat before him was the man in the picture. The mystery of his background had been solved but brought a new mystery, why? First things first.<p>

"Do you want to make the call or shall I?" Craig knew the answer but wanted to see the reaction. He got what he expected.

"Don't bother. I won't be here."

"So you don't wish to be found."

"Nope."

"Going to tell me why?"

"Nope."

"This flyer was all over headquarters. There are people there who have seen you, Major Richards for one. They are going to ask. If I know what's going on then I may be able to help. You run and they will know you were here. That gives them a place to start tracking you." He knew Chief or as he now knew, Robert, was stubborn but also smart. Give him a good reason and usually he could get around that. He waited and watched.

Finally decision made, Chief/Robert leaned forward and placed his hands on his thighs. "My ol' man runs everything, the corporation, city council, police department, the family, everything . He says jump, everybody jumps. My Mother did as she was told, drained the life out of her but she did it. My sister, she went to the schools he picked, hung out with the friends he picked, married the man he pick out and had babies when he told her to. I started out at the schools but refused to hang out with the `right people`. When he started pushing me towards becoming one of his sycophants, his yes men, I rebelled. He threatened me, I told him to go to hell. He had me arrested and thrown in jail. I got out and took off.

"So the Murder conviction was bogus?

"No, that was for real. He had an Investigator come after me. Caught up with me in Atlanta, tried to take me back. Put a gun to my head and when I refused to move he hauled back to pistol whip me. I pulled my knife and he went for it. He ended up getting stabbed."

"Your father know about that?"

"Probably, I wouldn't put it past him. He's got his hooks into everything. I was arrested under the name I was going by at the time so he might not."

"I take it you're not Indian either."

That earned him a wry smile. "No. One of the `wrong' people I hung out with was a Choctaw from Sandersville. He's the one taught me how to use a knife, how to hunt and survive on my own. He was killed in a hit and run. Damn sure my ol' man had something to do with it but couldn't prove it. To keep his memory alive, I took his name and his Indian background. He was destined to be their Chief when he got older so I became `Chief'."

Garrison nodded. "All right. If anyone comes asking…. " He paused to consider the con. "Do you have any identifying marks, or scars that could be used to prove you are this man in the flyer?"

"No. He was real good at inflicting pain but never bad enough to scar. There's no way to prove it."

"There is one more thing. Remember that contract you signed? The US Army owns you."

"Yeah," he said as he grinned but then it faded as he said, "He's got a lot of influence." The young man stood and as he was about to turn to leave he spoke. "Guess it shows how bad it is when a guy would rather face the German Army than his ol' man." Garrison's answering grin was all he needed. His secret was safe.

Garrison watched him leave then picked up the flyer and read it one more time before tossing it into the fire.

MISSING

Robert Andrew Jackson  
>Born, February 23, 1914<p>

Height, 6 foot Hair, Brown Eyes, Brown  
>Last seen Laurel Mississippi USA<br>Reward $1000 for information leading to the whereabouts of Mister Jackson  
>Contact the United States Consulate in London, England <p>

Two long nerve wracking missions, back to back, were finally over. They were home at last but all was not well. Goniff had twisted his ankle and fallen heavily on his left knee bruising it badly, Casino had jammed his thumb and the other two, while inside a prison camp, had seen something that was haunting them but neither would talk about what they has seen. The second mission, which should have been fairly easy, had been an absolute failure. Craig still had to go to HQ to explain what went wrong.

Wearily Craig opened the front door of the private residence where they were billeted. It was after midnight but having made this trip many times in the past six months no lights were turned on. He entered, took the required number of steps, and turned down the hall. Behind him he heard the others trudge up the steps to the second floor. They were as eager for a bed as he was. Arriving at his office he reached inside and snapped the light on. Pausing long enough to accustom his eyes to the light he entered the room and placed his gear beside the desk. When he turned he saw the Sargent Major standing at the door at attention.

"Sir, there is a civilian, an American, who asked me to call him as soon as you came in."

"What?" snapped the Lieutenant. He was exhausted mentally and physically. All he wanted was to go to bed, no talking, no decisions, no questions.

"A civilian, sir. He was quite insistent that he talk to you as soon as you got in, day or night."

"Then we haven't gotten in yet, have we."

If Craig hadn't been so tired he would have enjoyed watching the British soldier's face. It started with shock at the tone the American had used on him then eased into relief as he realized he did not have to make the call and then into pleasure that he was being included in a con. With a big smile he saluted and said "Yes, Sir. You are not here, sir. I will call 'im as soon as you get in. Good night, Sir." He turned and left.

Craig turned out the light as he headed off to bed. He would deal with it in the morning. Whatever it was.

In spite of his exhaustion Craig was awake early though he did sleep in an extra half an hour. As was his routine, he dressed and after stretching he went for a run. The air was sharp but clean; fall was a good time to be up early. Hopefully they would be granted a few days rest. He ran an easy lope, one foot in front of the other, the fresh air blowing in his face. All was right with the world, at least Garrison's little piece of it. That was not to last.

Walking the last five minutes as a cool down the Lieutenant was met at the back door by a visibly upset Sargent Major.

"Sir," and he snapped off a salute, "Major Keith and that civilian I told you about last night are in your office." Garrison nodded and was about to pass when the Brit put his hand on Garrison's arm, stopping him. "I've been reprimanded," he said quietly, "for not calling him last night."

That angered Garrison. The Sargent-Major put up with a lot from his team. They seemed to delight in tormenting him, circumventing his orders and just plain making his life miserable. This time he was obeying an order that he himself had given and now he was in trouble for it. He looked the soldier in the eye and said, "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Tell them I'm on my way." Not waiting for a reply, he hurried in, washed and dressed.

Garrison entered his office. Major Keith, a short, balding, bulldog of a man, who he had worked with before, was standing off to the side. The other man, a civilian, was a stranger but not a stranger. He sat in the chair, with his feet casually resting on the corner of the desk, a pose that was familiar. Also familiar was the dark hair and, as he came around to stand behind his desk, the black eyes that seemed to look right through you, unblinking. That was where the familiarity ended. This face was lean to the point of harshness, the nose slender, the nostrils flared, the lips narrow. If Chief was cautious, this man was ruthless. He stood and approached, his lean frame about two inches taller and twenty pounds of muscle heavier than Garrison. He had to admit the man presented a formidable figure. To top it off the man's clothes and large diamond ring meant money. No, he was nothing like the man upstairs.

Then he spoke as he gripped Garrison's hand. "Lieutenant. My name is Andrew Jackson." His voice was much like Chief's but with more authority. Chief wanted to be left alone, this man wanted your attention. "I have mentioned to your superior that you need a more reliable … second in command. I had stressed to him that I wished to speak to you as soon as you returned, no matter the time of day or night. He failed to do that. You need to have someone you can depend on." The tone was smooth, friendly and helpful but held a hint of warning. If you don't do something about it, I will.

"You may have asked," said Garrison as he looked over to where the Major stood watching before turning back to his guest, "but I ordered him not to." He added a hint of warning to his tone. "Those were my orders and he obeyed them." The room was silent. He knew the Major would not disagree with him. Civilians did not order Army personnel no matter how much money they had. A quick look in his direction told him he was right. "Now, what was it you wished to see me about?"

Possibly the visitor saw his mistake because his voice lost the demand and turned to asking, not quite pleading. "I am here," and he sat down but leaned forward, "to get my son. He can do more for the war effort at my side. He was being groomed to take over Jackson Industries when I retired but with the defense contracts we are all working overtime to supply our troops. I need him home, with me."

Garrison watched the man. He was smooth and if Chief had not told him he might have believed him. What was being asked? Where did Keith stand on this? If he agreed with Jackson then why was he here? The Major could just order the transfer and be done with it. "What makes you so sure your son is here, Mr. Jackson?"

"I assume you have seen the flyers I had distributed. More than one person has said your man is my son. I am here to bring him home." The asking was gone. Andrew now knew this was not going to be easy but then he loved a challenge, bending people to his will.

Garrison knew he was on his own. The Brass did not fully support his team. They were a necessary evil, one to be tolerated but not defended. Defending was Garrison's job. So thinking as fast as he could he started in on the con of Chief's life. "You'll have to wait."

Mr. Jackson sat waiting and when no explanation was forthcoming he looked to Major Keith. The two then looked to Garrison expectantly.

"He's not here." As expected, Keith reacted first.

"What do you mean, he's not here?" he growled as he stepped forward and reached for the phone.

"He's not AWOL, Sir," said Garrison as he placed his hand on the phone. Keith glared. "Something happened a few days ago that badly disturbed two of my men. The one you think is your son asked me early this morning if he could go sit in the church. I gave him permission. He told me he would return later this afternoon. He just needed some time alone and then he wanted to talk to the priest." That had the desired effect as both men backed down. "Maybe if you return later, about sixteen hundred hours."

Mr. Jackson stood and turned to Major Keith suggesting they go meet him at the church. When the Major did not jump at the suggestion he added, "He's my son." Very dramatic and heartfelt. "I've come thousands of miles to see him. Please don't fault me for being eager." He sounded so plausible, so authentic, a loving father who missed his son.

Craig saw the Major's hesitation. Looking at Mr. Jackson but speaking to Keith, he said, "He needs this time alone, he's earned it." Then he turned to the Major and said, "For six months he has done everything I've ask of him and more. Give him the time. A few more hours won't hurt." Craig thought it was possible he was being given the chance to get rid of one man or possibly dissolve the team. He was going to make darn sure that Keith knew he wanted neither option. There was an acknowledgement in his eye for just a second then it was gone. Craig knew he had won.

Jackson was unhappy. He knew he was close, the object of his pursuit was here. Then it folded when Keith moved towards the door and said that that was it and he had other things he needed to do. The Industrialist turned to Garrison and said, "I will have my son even if I have to go to the President of the United States." He strode to the door, turned for one last stare then was gone. Garrison thought over what had happened. He was sure that he and the gorillas had passed some test. Maybe now the Brass would cut them some slack. Even so he would have to be prepared for the man's inevitable return at 1600. With a deep breath and a deliberate relaxing of his shoulders he went upstairs to prepare.

Garrison mentally reviewed what could be done to change Chief's appearance as he walked to the con's room. He opened the door automatically looking for Actor. One look told him there was a problem. The three men were looking at him, Actor expectantly, Casino accusingly and Goniff with confusion. Then it hit him, there were only three of them.

"Where's Chief?" No one spoke. He glared at each one in turn, Actor and Casino met and held but Goniff looked around slowly, his gaze going from bed to fireplace to light. Each item was examined slowly. Only the widow got a cursory glance. Garrison had his answer and it angered him.

"Warden." Actor had risen and moved to the door in one smooth motion. He might be a big man but he could move like a dancer. "What is going on?"

Garrison was meaning to brush past him and … and do something rash, but he stopped and looked the man in the eye. He knew the man was a conman, able to project what you wanted to see but he was sure this was genuine confusion and concern he saw there. He looked to the others but they did not hold the answers either. He went down the stairs and out onto the grounds. He knew he could stand below the window and confront his Houdini but Chief would just outwait him. Mentally reviewing the layout of the grounds he moved to a vantage point about seventy yards from the window. Within minutes he was rewarded with the sight of a man cautiously approaching then climbing up to the portal. He moved the bars and slipped inside.

The Lieutenant charged into the room. He had wanted to throw the door open and let it bang against the wall but held it only with the force of his will. He would not damage someone else's property unless it was a certain someone's head. Still moving but forcing himself to slow he brought himself face to face with the object of his wrath.

"What the Hell were you doing, taking off like that?"

"He was hedging his bets, Warden." said Casino, a warning evident in his tone. He didn't know what was going on. Chief had heard something downstairs, then with a worried look had lit out the window. Then the Warden came in all mad about the Indian not being here as if that spoiled all his plans. As much as Casino liked to face a problem head on this was not the time. He stood facing the confrontation but kept his injured hand close to his body. He would not be hitting anybody today but that would not stop his mouth.

"You stay out of this!" snarled Garrison, his eyes never leaving his victim. His anger was being fuelled farther by Chief's refusal to show remorse or an admission of guilt. He just stood there staring right back. "On second thought," said the Lieutenant as he swung around to take in the others as well. "This involves all of you."

"No it don't." Chief was fighting to keep himself together. The thought of being caught and dragged back to the worst prison he knew of, had shaken him. After so long being on his own and this far away he had begun to believe he was safe. Hearing that voice again had brought it all back, the fear, the pain, the terror, the shame. Now the Warden wanted the others to know of his hell. He could just see their faces filled with sympathy and pity or hear them call him stupid for leaving all that money behind. He didn't need it or want it. He couldn't handle that. He should never have told the Warden about it. Now he was going to betray him. He gathered himself to attack and silence him before he could tell.

"It's all about trust," started Garrison calmly. Chief paused, it was not what he expected but he listened tensely in case. "We work together, we rely on each other. I see you all work well together, the museum practice run was smooth but … you've got to trust me as well."

Chief was confused. What had this to do with… He looked around and saw that the others were just as confused. Had his father conned the Warden, found a way to get him to hand him over? He did trust the Warden when they were on a mission but this…

Casino was confused but vocal. "Trust you? Like when you didn't tell us that we were going to be the decoy for that German General? Damn near got us killed, twice."

"Casino," intoned Actor, the voice of calm and reason, "He was under orders and he could have sent us alone. Instead he accompanied us."

"Yeah, well maybe so, but he could've told them no." Casino was backing down.

"No is not in the Army vocabulary," said Garrison. "Getting back to the problem at hand, as your leader, I have to know that what I tell you to do gets done. That's trust. I have to be able to trust you to carry out your part of the plan."

"Do you trust us?" ask Actor quietly

That stopped their leader for just a moment. He walked over to beside the window, turned to face the occupants, then reached back and moved the bars on the window. No need for words, their question was answered. "On the other side of the coin," he continued as he moved closer to the group, "you have to trust me."

"We do," said Actor.

"Do you?" Garrison queried as he looked to each one in turn.

"We're still here, aren't we?" said Casino as he gestured to the window. "At least most of us are." That earned a glare from Chief.

Garrison waited a moment then turned to look directly at Chief. "And what about you?" There was a long pause.

"I, uh, I trust you," said Chief tentatively then continued with more confidence on safer territory, "it's him I don't trust and the Major." It was obvious that the others were confused as to whom was being referred and they did not let it hang.

"Who you talking about?" asked Casino as he nailed Chief with a glare.

"Obviously he knows," he continued as he gestured to Garrison with his head. "We're supposed to trust each other but you don't trust us. Does that mean we shouldn't trust you?" The look on the others faces showed their agreement.

Chief knew he was right. You didn't trust anyone who didn't trust you. Could he trust them with this? He considered his options. It was too late to deny anything, and too many to fight his way out. Besides, Garrison was not moving. He explained the situation. There was a moments silence as they considered their options, or Chief's options.

"He'll have to die." Chief's shock at Actors pronouncement snapped his eyes to the tall con man. Casino's chuckle, obviously in agreement, drew them next. He continued around the room. Goniff looked thoughtful. Even the Warden seemed to agree.

"Wait a minute."

"What? You want to go back there?" asked Casino as if that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

"No, but…" He paused. It was the only way to stop him unless he ran and he didn't want to do that. "I'll do it. I don't want you guys involved."

"Have you ever done it before? It's not as easy as it looks," intoned Actor.

The look on the young man's face stopped everyone. It was a mix of confusion and disbelief. "More n you."

The silence lasted for about two seconds then was erased by a chorus of "What?"

"You dye your hair?" asked Actor eyeing Chief.

"What?" asked Casino and Chief in unison looking at Actor.

Actor figured it out. "What I was referring to was we must dye your hair." Chief's hand flew to his head, his confusion remained. "Changing the color of your hair will change your appearance."

Chief was embarrassed that he had taken it so wrong, embarrassed that he had thought of killing, something he was ashamed of, and here that was the first thing he thought of. He looked around. Instead of condemnation, they thought it was funny. "Oh." he said meekly.

Actor set to work explaining what he required and what needed to be done, Garrison and Goniff were dispatched to the local dispensary for dye and Casino was sent to find an old towel. Chief waited. All this attention embarrassed him but if it meant he could escape a fate worse than death then he would submit.

This was going to be the gamble of Chief's life. He had gotten used to being in the background with Garrison and Actor as the center of attention, the major players. Their lives depended on their ability to convince the enemy that they were someone else. Even if they were caught there was a chance that he could get away. Not that he would desert them, but if he got clear he could attempt a rescue. They were skilled at this, he was not. Now he was front and center, his life was in his hands, hands that were shaking, hands that could not use a knife to solve this problem. He took several deep breaths and tried to relax and rearrange his face like Actor had taught him. As long as he had the mirror in front of him, he could keep the pleasant look, that unconcerned, life was good look. Now he would have to look unconcerned while he faced the man who had made his life a living hell, the man who had the power to drag him back to that hell. Maybe he should tell Garrison he had to get some fresh air and just take off. The longer he waited the worse it got.

Finally they all heard the approaching car. Actor gave Chief a last minute pep talk as they waited for the call. Chief knew how a condemned man felt as he waited to be escorted to the office to meet the executioner. The Sargent Major opened the door and he fixed the smile on his face then entered.

Craig was worried too. He knew Major Keith knew what Chief looked like. He had met his men twice before and he had their files. He would know Chief's looks had been altered. Would he say anything? If he wanted to get rid of Chief, then this was his chance. On the other hand, how much pull did Mr. Jackson have with the Military? Was it enough to cancel the contract Chief had signed? There was no way to tell until the bomb went off.

Major Keith and Mr. Jackson entered the office. Garrison saluted the Major as Mr. Jackson looked around obviously hoping to see his son. There was little talk as they waited for the Sargent Major to return with the man in question. All eyes turned as the door opened.

"You wanted to see me?" He strained to keep his voice as deep as he could. He looked around, seeing the others and added, "What's this about?" He deliberately skipped over the civilian as if he was nobody rather than the devil incarnate.

Mr. Jackson had taken a step closer but stopped, frowning. Craig said, "Chief, You know Major Keith." The Major stood off to the side, hands clasped behind his back. The two nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Jackson."

'Become the man you are portraying', Actor's mantra played in his head fighting to block out the panic that was rising. He was going to have to face the devil and pretend. Did he want to stay with Garrison? Did he want this to end now? Did he want it enough to make sure that he would never be bothered by this demon again? Actor told him that if he wanted it badly enough that he could do this but he had to put everything into this performance. He would do this and he would win. With the help of the others, he would defeat his personal demon. He would be free of him and his shadow. He felt a calm settle in his heart. He smiled openly as he turned to face the evil, took a step forward and extended his hand. "Glad to meet you, Sir." He then turned back to Garrison as if waiting for direction.

"Mr. Jackson is looking for his son. You apparently resemble him."

He turned back to their guest. "Sorry, can't help you there," he said lightly. "My ol' man back in Chicago s'pretty angry at me for bein' here but I don't think he's mad enough to disown me." He couldn't help the smile falling from his face as the devil's eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched. Chief had seen that reaction before, just before he pounced. With his heart in his throat he played his final card, "I hope you find'm though. Not being a father myself, I can only imagine what it feels like to lose a son." He stood waiting. Either way it was all over. The devil would leave or more likely the fist would appear and he would end up on the floor bleeding. He remained frozen.

Mr. Jackson remained where he was, watching. Then with a sigh he said, "Thank you." He thanked Garrison and then nodded to the Major before moving to the door. The three men headed to the front door leaving Chief to wait. Major Keith hung back, waiting until the civilian was in the car. He then turned to Garrison. "I'm impressed, Garrison, but I suggest you keep an eye on that young man. I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Jackson hung around for a while."

"Thank you sir," said the lieutenant after he saluted. The Major had known and said nothing. After watching the car leave he returned to his office. All his men were waiting there. Chief was sitting in one of the chairs, pulling the rolled up socks from his boots. Placing them under his heels had made him taller but had made his feet very uncomfortable. The extra sweaters he had put on to make him look bigger had been shed. He was also eager to get the makeup off his face but for now he was just glad it was over. "You did good, Chief, but I want you to remain on the grounds for a while."

"Don't worry, Warden, I don't trust him either." With that he leaned back in the chair and exhaled. "I'm just glad that's over." Garrison hoped it was over.

"You mean you did not enjoy the con?" asked Actor innocently. He grinned at the sour look that earned him.

"Not to worry, Actor, your job is safe," said Casino.

"Hey Warden, I think this deserves a round of drinks, don't you, mates?" The four men gathered around the table as their leader went to get a bottle and glasses. Goniff was right. This deserved a celebratory drink. Chief would never be a con man, comfortable in the limelight but he had conned the hardest mark of all, someone who knew him and was looking for him.


	4. Chapter 4

What If Casino…

A knock on the door frame drew Garrison's attention and he looked up from the map he had been studying. The Sargent Major strode in looking determined. What now, wondered the Lieutenant. It had been quiet around here for all of, what, two days. He knew it couldn't last.

The British soldier stopped, stood at attention and saluted. This was serious.

"Sir, I have just completed the monthly inventory and I, uh, I have to report a…"

"What's missing?" asked Garrison cutting to the heart of the matter. With his men that was what it had to be, or something had gotten broken. Why did they do it?

There is a, was a small portrait that sat on the mantle in the drawing room. It is missing, Sir."

"Missing," the American repeated.

"Yes," and the formal military posture eased. "I looked everywhere, in case it might have gotten moved, but I can't find it."

"You suspect that one of my men might have…" offered Garrison.

"I can't come right out and accuse, but you know those blokes," then he caught himself and he stood a little straighter. "Sorry Sir, but if it wasn't one of … of… then it would have to be… Mrs. Greeves." He hurried to dismiss that idea. "If word got out that she was even a suspect, it would ruin her. She would be dismissed and she would never work again. Besides she's been the housekeeper here since she was a young girl. She wouldn't steal from the family."

"Thank you, Sargent Major. One other thing; do you remember when you saw it last?"

"Yes, sir. I do the inventory on the first of every month so it was there a month ago."

"And you haven't seen it since."

"I don't go in there that often, just to check. And it wasn't any of the guards." Seeing the raised eyebrows he added, "I did a surprise inspection and did not find it. No one even knew what it was when I asked. They do not come into the house. It is not part of their rounds."

"So it had to be one of my men," he finished sadly.

"I am sorry Sir, but it looks that way." He waited and exhaled in relief when he was dismissed and safely out of the room.

When he was alone again Garrison too exhaled. Why? Why did they do it? There was no need to ask, he knew who would do it and the why was irrelevant. He reached over to the intercom and buzzed the men's room. It took almost a minute before Actor answered.

"Send Goniff to my office."

"Is there trouble, Warden?" The question was asked very smoothly without accusation but he ignored it and disconnected. Now he would wait.

Goniff arrived with a grin, in fact, he looked pleased with himself. "'allo Warden."

"Sit down." When he had complied he started. "Sent any parcels to your Mum, lately?"

"No," he answered tentatively. He had a tendency to look smug when questioned as if he knew you couldn't pin it on him but this time he looked a bit concerned. He might have been worried that he would have to find another way to send his gifts to his Mother.

"The pieces of art that were left in the house were catalogued before we moved in." There was no change in face. "I have been informed that one of the paintings is missing." He watched closely but there was still no response. "If it is returned by Tuesday night there will not be anything said. You understand?"

"Warden, I don't know anything about it. I ain't nicked anything from this place."

"All I'm saying is it had better be back by Tuesday midnight. Two days."

"And all I'm saying," his voice rose, "is that I didn't take it."

Remaining calm Garrison insisted, "I didn't say you did. All I want is that painting back where it belongs."

Goniff returned to the room the men shared. Casino was the one who asked. "So what'd he want?"

"'e accused me of stealing." His tone was a cross between wounded and indignant.

"The nerve of the man," said Actor, "accusing a pickpocket of theft."

"But I didn't take it."

"So what'd he say you stole?" asked Casino coming over to the Englishman. The two often bickered and taunted each other but they were friends.

"Some painting. Can you see me trying to sneak a painting out of here in me pocket?" He was getting upset.

"What painting was it?"

"I don't know, 'e didn't say but 'e was serious. Said it better be back by Tuesday midnight." He turned to the conman who had sat watching. "Do you think 'e'll send me back," he asked anxiously, "if 'e doesn't get 'is painting?"

"I do not know, Goniff. It might depend on how valuable the painting was. You do not know which one is missing?"

"Wait a minute," and he looked thoughtful. "You like paintings. Did you nick it for your private collection?"

"No, Goniff, I did not. I have not seen a painting in this building that I consider worth stealing, so no, I did not steal it." Goniff looked disappointed.

"What'm I going to do?"

Casino put his arm over the Brit's shoulders. "If you're innocent then you've got nothing to worry about."

"A painting goes missing and the owners find out, they'll go to the Army. The Army looks at us and guess 'oo gets blamed. They gotta punish someone and I go back to prison. It's not fair. I didn't do it."

"You were framed," said Casino with a smile. Goniff was quick to tell anyone that that was why he was in prison.

"Fat lot of good that does me back in prison."

Casino tried to interest everyone in a game of poker in hopes of taking Goniff's mind off his troubles but no one was interested. "How about a drink? We got time before dinner to slip down to the pub."

Normally Goniff was up for that but today he just threw himself down on his cot and buried his head under his pillow.

"Hey, it'll turn up," said Casino.

"Easy for you to say," he muttered from under the pillow before pulling it away and half rising. "It's not your neck that's about to be locked up. I hated it in there." He flopped back down.

Actor had watched the Englishman and understood his feelings. "If it was not one of us then someone else had to have taken it. I think we can rule out Garrison."

"Why?" demanded Goniff sitting bolt upright. "'E's got the perfect cover. Pin it on one of us," then his voice fell, "namely me." He fell back again.

"He wouldn't do that," insisted Chief. His defense of their leader came as no surprise to anyone.

Casino watched the proceedings and a little knot formed in his stomach. Round and round it went. Goniff was really worried. He was so worried that he hardly ate the next morning. Casino hoped he would get over it. Garrison wouldn't send him back. They were a team.

As he was leaving the kitchen he passed Garrison's office and overheard voices. He slowed to listen at the almost closed door.

"Did you mention it to Mrs. Greeves? She might know something about it."

"No, sir. No matter what I say she will know she's to blame. She has enough to worry about, what with young Glen and all."

Casino headed out to the back porch. Would they blame her? If they did, what would they do? Would she be charged with theft? Would she go to prison? That was a thought he could not live with. She was a great ol' lady. No matter what she always smiled. She never made a fuss about their coming and going, never harped at them about the state of their room. He couldn't let her go to prison. But the alternative… There had to be another alternative. This had seemed the best thing to do at the time but now… He had to do it. He stood up and headed back inside.

He paused to be sure there was no one else inside before he knocked. A voice told him to enter so he did. Nervously he approached the desk.

"I gotta go to London right now," he said but Garrison did not move. Ah hell, he thought.

"I gotta go get that painting." Still the Lieutenant sat. "I stole it, okay?" Still nothing. "I needed the money."

"You sold it. You best get it back." The voice was deadly calm; the voice of steel they had all come to respect.

"I hocked it. I thought I could pick up something, next mission and use that to get it back."

"What did you need the money for?

Casino looked away, "I got family problems."

"You got a girl in trouble."

"She's… No, not like that."

"Well then, what is it?"

He sighed wearily. "My sister, she needed the money."

"How much?"

"Two."

"Two hundred?"

"Thousand."

"Two thousand dollars. What about the rest of your family, can't they help?"

Casino deflated and he turned away shaking his head.

"You have to get that painting back. I take it you already sent her the money you got?"

"Yeah, she needed it right away."

"I've got some money. What about the rest of the guys, you already ask them?"

"No." When he saw Garrison rise and head for the door he called out, "Wait." Garrison turned on him but he knew it was too late. He followed him out.

When they reached the room Garrison glared at the safe cracker. It was up to him to explain.

"Look, I needed some money fast so I hocked a painting." He glared at his team mates daring them to say anything. It didn't work.

"You stole it and let me take the blame. You ruddy bastard." Normally Goniff knew he was no match for the more solidly built safecracker but the fear he had experienced clouded his judgement and he launched himself at the man responsible. Casino saw it coming and thought he knew he deserved it he defended himself.

Garrison was not expecting it but was close enough to deflect the onslaught though Casino caught a glancing blow to the face. A very angry Goniff stood glaring and breathing heavily but he was not finished.

"You stood right there making fun of me 'cause I was scared of going back to prison and all along you knew." Everyone turned to glare at Casino. "You're a ruddy bastard," he spat out. "Don't you ever count on me to watch your back again."

"Goniff, sit down."

"And you thought no one would notice?" asked Actor. His tone was cold and hard.

"I needed the money fast. I figured on our next mission I could pick up something and use it to get the painting back." He sighed and turned to the Brit. "I'm sorry Goniff, I really am. I knew the Warden wouldn't send you back over a painting. I would a told him it wasn't you before he did it anyway. Hell, after seeing you so upset I went and told him it was me."

Goniff looked to Garrison and saw the truth but from the look on his face he was not in a forgiving mood.

"So, why'd you take it?" asked Chief with a touch of anger. He and Casino had never been close. Had he just found another reason to hate the guy?

"I needed the money."

"Gambling debt?" asked Actor.

"No. My Sister wrote me. She needed money. I had to help her. Now I need you guys to help me out."

"Why should we? You were alright with me going back to prison," said Goniff angrily. "Now that it's you, we should all 'elp you? I say no." He did not even bother to see if anyone agreed with him. He was firm.

"Is that true?" asked Actor. He was calm but they all knew that Actor was a passionate man, a man with strong emotions. He would not tolerate such cruelty.

"I knew the Warden wouldn't send him back. Besides if he did I would have stepped up and told him."

"A little late now, wouldn't you say?" said Actor with a slight nod of his head toward Goniff.

"Look," started Casino, "I was desperate. She needed the money. I couldn't just ignore it; couldn't tell her too bad."

"Maybe if you explained what she needed the money for then we might reconsider," suggested Actor.

Casino sighed. He could read the looks on everyone's face. He was alone facing an enemy that he was going to have to depend on for his life. Maybe right now he didn't need anyone but the moment they stepped onto European soil he needed them. Hell. Even here he needed friends. He had it good here. If he wanted to keep it that way he was going to have to betray a confidence. He would have to reveal a secret he had kept for years.

He had no choice. The gambler in him knew when it was time to fold. The convict knew when he was beaten.

"My sister has this kid who got beat up. It did something to his head and he was never right after that. She looks after him. She's a waitress but she got fired. She got behind in the rent and the guy threatened to throw her out if she didn't come up with the money."

"Couldn't she move some…? She did not have money for another place."

"Yeah. I couldn't see her on the street. If she left him alone out on the street, no telling what would happen to him. At least in the apartment she could lock him in."

"What about a neighbour? Was there no one who could take in the child until she found another job?" asked Garrison.

Another sigh. "The 'child' is fifteen."

The silence meant they were all considering. "Your sister is older than you." A simple statement.

Silently Casino shook his head. Which was worse, the truth or what they were now thinking? So his sister was a tramp. He was not his sister so it didn't… But it did. He wouldn't have these men thinking that of her. She didn't deserve that.

"It's not what you think!" he demanded. "He's not her real son but she treats him like he is. She's a good person."

"Your sister took in a young man who was damaged. What about the authorities? There are places …" started Garrison.

"Have you ever been in one of those places?" Casino demanded angrily. "They're worse than prison. Even I wouldn't put a dog in there."

"Do the authorities know about him?"

"No. And that's another reason why I had to help her. If she got thrown out someone would call the cops and he'd be taken away. I couldn't let that happen."

"'ow come you didn't tell us this before you stole the painting?" asked Goniff, his anger had cooled.

"Any of you guys got two grand I could borrow?" he asked sadly. He knew the answer.

"What about your family?" asked Actor. "Could they lend her the money?"

"My family died in a fire. I was the only one who survived."

"Your sister must have survived," pointed out Actor.

"She's like a sister to me. After the fire I was sent to a home for kids but I hated it there. I started hanging around the streets, met a few people. They helped me out in exchange for…"

"Burglaries," suggested Actor.

"Sorta like that. I used the money to buy extra food and clothes. Then I started helping out some of the other kids. When I turned sixteen I got my own place and shortly after she ran away and came to stay. Then one of the others 'til there were eight of us. We were like a family with everyone chipping in where they could. I tried to keep the kids in school as long as I could. The guys I met taught me how to pick locks and crack a safe. The money I got went to provide for the family. It ran out and they had to scatter when they lost the apartment. Eva had a job by then and she kept Joe-Joe. Now she needs help."

"There must be a way… I take it you sent your sister the money and she and Joe-Joe are safe now."

"Yeah."

"We could just steal the painting back," suggested Goniff with a grin.

"When we needed money before you got it from… Could we…?" asked Casino.

"No," he answered thoughtfully but said no more. That was a dead end.

Casino felt drained. By holding on to his secret, he had almost destroyed the best gang he had ever been part of. After telling them he had felt the weight lifting from his shoulders. Goniff was not going back to prison and from the looks of him he was no longer mad at him. The rest of the guys seemed to understand why he had done it and they accepted it. He still had to come up with the money but with the five of them working on it, they would find an answer.


End file.
